


Three Days in Winter

by risenfrommyimagination



Category: British Actor RPF, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Young British Artists | Britart RPF, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Actor Tom Holland, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Break Up, Childhood Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hiding, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Memories, Old Friends, Party, Party Games, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Break Up, Redemption, Truth or Dare, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21707230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risenfrommyimagination/pseuds/risenfrommyimagination
Summary: It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss - something you had a lot and never would have again with him, but that was fine. You were best friends. There always had been a you and him, calls at midnight, weekends spent together. Never thinking about or at least doubting any of your decisions.
Relationships: Tom Holland (Actor) & You, Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/You, Tom Holland/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Three Days in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I had a burst of ideas and started to write this fic/short story last week and I got really into a kind of winter mood. This is the first part of three, next one probably end of the week :) 
> 
> Feel free to follow/comment and tell me how you like it :)

House parties are concept you’d never understand or get behind. Maybe because your one-bedroom apartment in the middle of London is already crowded with five people in it or maybe just because of the overall mess and chaos people leave behind when the party is over. Loud, thrilling music is blasting from the big speaker standing next to you, spreading the music playing from the next room in the whole house. Right next to it two people, from their looks a man and a woman, making out vigorously. His hands grabbing around her butt, while she is obviously grinding against his pelvic. In any normal, daily situation, people would be upset about this, but at parties, no one cared. You take a sip from your plastic cup, the sharp alcohol in the drink is burning your throat, but warming up your stomach, you can almost feel the alcohol getting right into your system.

Next to you, the girl moans a little bit and you push yourself away from the wall you were leaning on the last few minutes. Time to go. Maybe dance. You glimpse at your phone. No message. Great.

You went here to see your friends, but it seems no one is here, although you wrote them several messages. Slowly, your steps already a little bit wanky - maybe you drank too much by now - you walk into the adjoining room, which seems to be the living room normally, but is now the dancefloor.

The pungent sweet smell of pot hits you first, although the people smoking it are standing on the crammed balcony opposite of the room. It overpowers everything, but then the smell of alcohol and sweat mixes with it, coming from the spilled drinks on the floor and table and the body’s pressing together, moving to the pulsing beat of the music. Those are the smells seeping deeply into all the fabrics, clothes, curtains and pillows, not going away even after several washes. 

You know you’ll smell horribly after tonight. But it’s also worth it.

The song is fading into another, beats are picking up and you feel the urge to move your feet. To lose yourself in the music.

“Eeeh here you are.” Suddenly, two arms wrap around you from behind, one is holding an empty bottle of beer, you can feel warm, drunk breath on your neck. You turn around on your feet, looking directly in the drunkenly grinning face of your best friend. Tom.

“You are heeeeere.” He grins, hugging you even tighter and you can see Haz - standing next to him - shaking his head, but also looking really drunk.

“Yeah I am.” You lick your lips, your eyes twitching between the both of them. “For about an hour or so.” To be honest, you lost track of time. It also could be two hours.

“Where?” Tom giggles, taking a sip from the empty bottle. “In the basement?”

“I was here the whole time.” You roll your eyes. “And I sent you both messages.”

Haz rolls his eyes, again shaking his head. “Not your fault. Tom’s battery is dead and he couldn’t tear away from the girl in the upstairs bedroom.”

Another giggle from Tom. “Lies.”

His best friend sighs, but you notice his eyes glancing at you, as if he was waiting for a reaction from you. You know he wanted you to react. 

Every time when there was a girl involved with Tom he looked at you like this. _As if it would hurt you._

“Nevermind.” Tom lays one arm around your shoulder, the other one around Haz’ waist. “Since we are all here now, we can do shots.”

“No, no shots.” Haz’ grimaces at the bare thought of it and Tom sighs, his face clearly showing the disappointment in his best friend, then he looks at me. “Can I have your phone for a second?”

You frown. There was a slight chance he’ll let it fall and crack your screen. “Why?”

“Please.” With his big brown, really drunk eyes, Tom looks at you, causing your stomach to turn a little. It’s the alcohol.

“Ok.” You sigh, pulling your phone out from your fanny pack and handing it to him

“Don’t drop it.”

“No.” Tom unlocks your phone - yes he knows the code, but you also know his. You see him opening the number pad to type in a number, then holding it up to his ear.

“911 hello? I like to report a loser.” 

The second the words leave his mouth, Tom bursts into giggly, cockeyed laughter, eyes winced, the small wrinkles around them, pulling you in completely.

“Really?” Haz rolls his eyes, but his lips are curling slightly, even though he is looking very, very stern at his best friend. “This joke?”

“Good one huh?” Tom looks at me in an attempt of affirmation. “Come on, you’re laughing, too.”

“It’s a good one.” You shrug. “I mean…”

“Yeah, you are on his side, for sure.” Haz crosses his arms, shaking his head, but again, there is this glance in his eyes. Side-eyeing you. Trying to catch any reaction out of control.

_As if you’d lose control. Not over this._

“Ok let’s go.” Tom gives you back your phone, his arm now wrapping around your waist. “Kitchen is over there.”

None of you disagrees following him in the kitchen. Since your friends are here now, this could turn into a very interesting night. Both of them are party animals when the party was good, same as you. You never had a bad party with them.

“Heeere we are.” Tom’s arm slips away from your waist as you enter the kitchen. It smells even more like alcohol and smoke in here. No pot, smoke. Someone really didn’t care about smoking inside and you knew that the smell would stick to every crease of the room for weeks. Just like to your top, your jeans and your hair. A group of people is standing right next to the fridge, a girl is leaning against it, playing with her long curly hair, eyes fixed on the guy next to her, who is just staring into his cup.

“Ok, what do you want?” There is an armada of full and half-empty bottles standing on the kitchen counter. 

Various sorts of gin, vodka, liquor and also a really old looking bottle of whiskey. Probably from the parent’s cabinet and not intended to be chugged by a drunk law student. Someone spilled some kind of liquid on the counter and didn’t even bother to clean it up. Indeed, there is a piece of bitten into pizza lying in the pool of the undefinable liquid. It looks like beer, could be something different. You don’t even want to know.

“Ok, how about classic vodka?” Tom pulls a bottle out of the armada, holding it up and Haz raises his eyebrows at him. “You call vodka classic?”

“Yeah? You can get drunk with it. Classic.” His explanation doesn’t make sense at all, but after all, you are all drunk and you shouldn’t care.

“Yeah, why not?” Leaning against the counter, your hand touches something wet. “Ew.”

Some other liquid spilled on it. It’s sticky. Great. You wipe your hand on your pants. They need to go in the laundry anyway so you don’t care.

“Ok, then vodka.” Ignoring the absolutely not amused look on Haz’ face, Tom leans over to grab a stack of plastic shot glasses. “Uhmmm yummy, look.”

The first shot glass is filled with soggy cigarette butts. Someone did not only not bother to smoke inside the house, but also did not think about to throw them away properly.

“Treat yourself.” Haz grins. “This is exactly your taste.”  
“I can share.” Tom lifts the glass to him. “Want some?”  
“No please.” His best friend looks disgusted. “I don’t want my mouth to smell like cold cigarettes.”

Another group of people comes in, bawling, to guys jumping on each other, almost knocking over two chairs, filling up the entire kitchen with their presence. One of them is grabbing a bag of crisps, ripping it open, its content spilling all over the counter and floor.

“Ohhhh.” Howling, one of the guys slams his hand on the other ones back. “I think you need to clean that up.”

“For sure not.” The guy grabs a bottle of beer, shrugging his broad shoulders, then leaves the kitchen, the other ones following him.

Another reason why you don’t get people do such partys: people like those guys. Probably not even invited, just came with a friend and brought ten other friends, because they took any chance for free food and drinks.

“Ok, so…” Tom shakes the vodka bottle. “Shots?”  
“Yeah.” Definitely yes.  
“Great.” He places three shot glasses in a row, filling them up.

Haz still does not look that happy about the vodka, but grabs a pint, looking at us. “So…on us?”

“On the night.” Tom raises his pint. “Uhm….on….and on us.”  
“On us.” A little bit of vodka spills on your fingers, as you toast to each other, then you chug down the vodka. It burns in your throat, but also warms your stomach.

“‘nothe r-round.” Seemingly more into the vodka than you, Tom fills up his pint again, then trying to fill also yours, but spilling the vodka all over your fingers and the floor

“Maybe you should…stop….Tom….” Haz grabs the bottle from his hands, placing it back on the counter. “Stop.”

“That’s what you told me earlier, too.” The drunken grin on his face, wide smirk and Haz sighs. “Yeah and was I right?”

“No.” A soft pouting.  
“Did you get her number?”

So they are talking about the girl. The girl that kept them both away from you. You feel a sting in your heart and decide to chug the vodka in your pint, that Tom did manage to pour in.

“No, but…” Tom sighs, leaning to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his head finding its familiar position on your shoulder. “Look Haz is mocking me.”

“Oh poor thing.” You pat his head, your fingers tangling through his soft, merely styled curls. Again Haz stares at you. At you both. At Tom lying in your arms, holding you close, his hair brushing over your cheek, so close you could smell his shampoo. “Can’t get a number from a girl that is totally not interested in you.”

Haz chuckles, happy that you got on his side this time. “See?”

“You are both idiots”, Tom groans, bumping his fingers slightly into your side, “really nice what I consider as my friends.”

_Friends, yes._

From the corner of your eyes, you see a group of girls entering the kitchen. Giggling, seemingly drunk and above all staring at Tom, still resting against you. Those glances mixed with this hint of jealousy of you, maybe sometimes hate. You couldn’t figure that out quite well, but most of the girls didn’t smile at you when they saw you and Tom, probably assuming you two are a couple.

_But you aren’t._

You are friends. Best friends. Close friends. Your lives knit together so tightly, that it was impossible to get away from him. Sometimes you wished you could.

“Uh…Tom?” Big, shimmy eyes, shy smile on her lips. A girl is approaching you and Tom’s head leaves your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Would you…” The girls in the background start to giggle, hushing it. “Would you like to play spin the bottle with us?”

Of course, the popular and hated from everyone party game. You could have bet that they asked him to play this, girls like those were too predictable. Playing the shy, innocent girl, trying to overplay their nervousness because there was actually Tom Holland on the party of their friend and clearly, they didn’t know before no, no. They had been waiting for him all evening, making plans on how to get closer to him and yes _of course_ , spin the bottle is the perfect opportunity. Not casually talking, no. A party game. 

With a bunch of random people - obviously their friends - in a secluded room, hoping that the bottle would point at them and then they obviously would chose “Dare” because they are _funny_ and _experimental_ and then one of their friends would shout a _“Kiss Tom Holland”_.

And then everyone would go silent and she would giggle shyly and probably Tom would kiss her. Because he was a nice guy. And he’d never say no to a kiss.

“Sure.” As you predicted. His arms wrap around you and Haz. “If there is space for those two, too.”

Disappointment sparks in her bright blue eyes. That clearly didn’t belong to her plan. His friends. Haz and you. Maybe she forgot, maybe she thought he’d come alone.

“Yeah.” She is not happy about this. Not at all. “Will be a little bit crowded then, but yes.”

You know she is hoping both of you back out. Letting him go with her alone.

And to be fair, you are considering it. Party games are fun, yes, but being in a room with a bunch of girls giggling and staring at Tom don’t sound like that party night for you. Suddenly, the living room smelling like pot and sweat seemed more fun than this. At least there would be music. 

“I mean I don’t have to…” You start, seeing the spark re-occuring in the girl’s eyes, but Tom shakes his head, gripping your waist tighter. “Oh no you don’t back out. None of you.”

Haz looks at me, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip from his beer. “I am in.”

“This is my bro.” Tom places a kiss on Haz’ forehead, who grimaces at me, then winks.

No Haz. Not this time. Absolutely not.

“Yeah, ok, sure.” Knowing you don’t have the slightest bit of a chance, you give in, grabbing the vodka bottle from the counter and pouring some of it in your cup.

“Pure?” Tom raises his eyebrows at you. His left one being out of control as usual. But you like it. It belongs to him like the freckles on his crooked nose and the soft acne scars on his cheeks.

“Pure?”  
“Your drink.” He points at your cup. “Want something in it or….”  
“Tom, are you coming?” Sweet voice, eyelashes fluttering. “You can join us upstairs.” She smiles at you. You know it’s not meant like that. She wants you to be gone. Not following them. “First door on the right.”

“We’ll grab a drink and then join you right after.” Haz smiles at her, pushing Tom a little bit to her. “Go ahead, we’ll find you.”

There is a cheeky grin on Tom’s lips he throws at his best friends, as he walks away, the girl next to him.

“You could have joined him.” You grab the bottle with rhubarb spritzer, filling some of it in your cup. “I am able to find the room myself.”

“Yeah but I don’t think you want to find it.” Haz knows you, which is no surprise regarding how long you know each other. Five, six years maybe? And how much time you spent each week together. With Tom or without him.

“Yeah, sure.” You grab the vodka bottle again, chugging some more in your cup, making Haz raise his eyebrows.

“You’re ok?”

“Yepp.” A sip from your drink. You can taste the vodka. Good. “You know I don’t like those party games.”

“Or the girls huh?” It’s just teasing, but he hits you right in your gut.  
“Don’t tell me you like them.” Haz shrugs his shoulders. “It’s funny watching them acting so weird around him. Like he is someone special.”

“Yeah kind of.”  
“You know he’d never go home with one of them.”  
A bitter taste in your mouth. You swallow it, running your hand through your hair. “And if? It’s his decision.”

“Sure.” Smirk on his lips, he raises his bottle to them, his eyes glue to you again.

_Don’t. Just don’t start with this._

“Maybe he finds someone here.” Words are leaving your lips, leaving a faint, weird feeling in your body and Haz laughs. “Sure, here. A college girl.”

_I am one, too. Was._

“You never know.” Playing spin the bottle suddenly sounds really appealing to you instead of further talking to Haz about this. “Should we go upstairs?”

“Sure.” Luckily Haz is too drunk notice the miserability of your attempts to change the subject and goes right in. “Come on.”

People are piling in the corridor, which seems to be declared as the popular make out spot, with all the freshly in love couple, pressing against walls and furniture, hands grabbing everywhere, tongue where you don’t want to see them. You step over a boy grinding a girl on the stairs, trying to ignore her lustful moaning and knocking over a bottle of beer. The contents spill on the carpeted steps, you prop it back up, getting back up the stairs.

Upstairs, the sweet, pungent smell of pot hits you again. The stoner room is here, too. There has to be one on every party. It’s an unofficial house party rule.

“Don’t stop, come on.” Pushing you forward, Haz leads you to the only door left open in the corridor. The other ones are closed and you could bet what was happening behind them.

Drugs and sex, but probably more sex than drugs. People here aren’t that into other drugs rather than pot. And none of you are at all. Not Haz, not you and definitely not Tom.

You walk towards the room. Chattering, laughter. There are people in there. Most of them you don’t know. You know the host - one of your former study colleagues and also a friend of Haz - and you know Tom and Haz. Not even one of your female friends is here. All away with their boyfriends for a last weekend trip before the finals month would start.

_The final, finals month._

The doorsill creaks a little under your step, but no one notices. It’s too loud. Tom is sitting right across the room, next to the girl who asked him in first place. A bottle of beer rolling between his hands, wild strands of hair falling into his face, smiling. This drunk smile, not directed at her, more like on the floor. But the girl doesn’t mind. She is talking to him, her hands wildly gesturing. Probably a really funny story about how she did not expect him here and how much she liked his last movie.

_A lot. Yes we know. It was incredible._

And yes, you loved his last movie, you could watch it over and over again. Seeing him grow as an actor just made your heart swell happy. But you couldn’t hear those girls anymore. How they tried to impress him, although there wasn’t much needed to do so.

 _You know it, right._

“Oh you are here, finally.” Heads turn to us and I really consider throwing my drink at Tom for making us such an entrance. “We can finally start.”

“Yeah Tom didn’t want to start unless you are here.” Using his name, good one. Draws attention. But maybe does not go along with the annoyed undertone in her voice.

“Come on, make some space for them.”

A few people are moving a little creating some space for Haz and you to sit down on the already crowded floor. About ten people around you, in the middle an empty liquor bottle with the label peeled off half. On the bed right behind Tom there are two people, making out, giggling, absolutely not bothered by the other people in the room.

“Good, since we are all here…who wants to start?”

“The one who initiated it, you.” Tom giggles, bumping her lightly and you can see her face drop. First chance to kiss him: missed.

“Sure…I mean, if…nobody wants to…” But everyone is quiet. And she spins it. It stops at a guy with long brown, curly hair.

“Truth or dare?”  
“Truth.”

The guy next to him boos. “Come on Greg.”

“Ok.” The girl licks her lips. “If you could make out with one person in this room, who would it be.” ‘Of course. A kiss question. To set the mood.

“Uh…Harry for sure.” Laughter fills the room. You don’t know Harry, but looking at the reaction of the guy next to him, it must be Harry.

“Ok, your turn.”  
The bottle spins again and how lucky for her, it stops at her.  
But she doesn’t look happy.

“He doesn’t know she wants to kiss him.” Haz whispers at your ear. Exactly that what you thought a minute ago.

“Truth or dare?”  
“Truth.”  
“See.” Chuckles. “Wait for her answer.”  
“Who was your first celebrity crush?”

_Please don’t say Tom Holland._

“Uh I don’t know.” Of course she plays the shy girl again. “Maybe Zac Efron.”

Good answer to be fair. Nice looking dude. Surferboy style. Just a little bit taller than Tom.

“My turn again.” The bottle spins and spins, coming dangerously close to me, then stops two persons away from me.

“Truth or dare?”  
“Dare.”  
“Yeah bud, show us.” A whistling from the bed.  
“Fuck off.”

“Ok so….” She giggles, pulling back her hair, accidentally brushing some of it in Tom’s hair. He backs up, catching your gaze and grins. Then a soft wink. Your drunk heart stumbles.

_Fuck off Holland. Really._

“Take off your shirt.”

Basic. Happens at every spin the bottle at least once. And the guy does not even flinch a muscle, just takes off his shirt and throws it behind him. “Your turn.”

You take a sip from your drink, watching the bottle spin, getting slower and slower.

And then stopping right in front of you.

_Oh no._

“Ohhh.” The smirk on Haz’ face is unmistakeably broad and also Tom, sitting on the other side, is grinning at you. Much to the dislike of the girl next to him.

“Truth or dare?”

You take a sip. Vodka burning your throat. “Dare.”

“Girl what.” A whisper directly in your ear.

On the other side of the circle, Tom’s eyebrows flinch up.

And you’re hoping for a stupid dare. That makes you get up, grab something. Maybe a mix of all the alcohol down there. Then you would not have to come back. You could just sneak into the dancing crowd.

“Ok….” The guy clears his throat. “I dare you to kiss Tom Holland.”

Oh no.  
Oh no.  
_No._

Glaring eyes hit you first. The girl sitting next to Tom. Eyebrows furrowed, staring at you with such cold and dead eyes, as if you had planned this. Planned to steal _her_ kiss.

Her kiss yes. Which was so spontaneous from her and not planned. No.

Tom next to her is shifting on his butt. Uncomfortable is written right on his face, he is licking his lips, pulling them between his teeth. Biting them. Clear signs.

Your eyes meet. He smirks at you. Softly. Apologizing.

_You could._

Moments pass with the room seeming to be completely silent, but the anticipation is swirling around like a noisy, annoying bee.

_You could, but you shouldn’t._

Again, Tom’s gaze. Still the smirk, a little tilt with his head. _Would be fine._

_I know._

You swallow. Trying to overcome the lump in your throat.  
“Guys this…” Breakdown. Pause. Again. “This is dumb.”

It feels like your voice does not belong to you. It is trembling. Completely unusual.  
“Come on.” The guy you spun the bottle smirks at you. “You know you want it.”

_No._

“No, guys, this…” Desperately trying to find the right words, to explain yourself why. Why you shouldn’t. Why you couldn’t.  
“Maybe that’s the reason it didn’t work out huh?“

Words cut through the cloud in your head, down in your heart. And you feel it tearing apart. The soft smirk on his lips turned into a drunk grin, cheeky, teasing and probably, maybe not meant like this. But it has an effect on you.

And on the girl sitting right next to Tom. This snarky gaze in her eyes, looking patronising at you.

_There were other reasons. Not this one._

A hand on your back. Haz.  
You bite your lip, not looking at Tom or anyone else. Down on the carpet. It’s blue and white striped.

“Come on girl.”  
Not the same guy from before. Another one. Wanting to see this kiss. As if it was a show. Pure entertainment. Hairs are falling in your face as you shake your head slowly, catching Tom’s glance through the thin curtain, as you pull them back and get on your feet.

_No._

Sweet, sharp pain hits you and you stumble back. Stunned. Something hits your heel, sending another pain through your body. A numb one. Everything feels numb.

Someone in the round says something, laughter. You don’t get what he was saying. Maybe about you. Probably about you. Because you didn’t kiss him. You didn’t.

Your stumbling out of the room, then stairs.

Down. Down. Down. The couple is still there. Still making out. The hand of the guy is under her tight top, fondling with her breast as you step over them, almost fall down.  
“Woah slow…are you ok?”

You nod.  
_Sure._

You are ok. Nothing else. What should be wrong with you? Nothing.

 _It’s just the alcohol._ You tell yourself. The drinks. And shots.  
In the corridor, nothing has changed either. Couples making out, spilled drinks on the dark wooden floor, music blasting from the adjoining room. The pulsing beat whispering a sweet promise, telling you to make this the best party night ever, to make you forget everything.

And it draws you in so vehemently, as if it could feel your despair to loosen this uneasiness in your body. And you want this so bad. To feel alive again.

The pulsing of the beat draws you in, like a heartbeat, keeping you alive, pushing through your veins and you follow it. In the room, to the dancing people. Immediately your body starts moving to the beat, dancing, hands in the air, catching the rhythm.

But something feels off. Wrong. Not fitting.  
It seems like everyone around you is moving in sync. And you don’t. You are just a few steps behind.

_It’s ok._

And you keep on dancing. Trying to shake off this weird feeling clinging to your chest, grabbing around your heart, squeezing it. This isn’t the alcohol. You stop. People around you don’t.

_More of it._

Hoping to find your release there, you find yourself in the kitchen, noticing you left your cup upstairs in the room. Not at any costs you’d go back there to grab it. Your hands wander over empty liquor bottles, half-empty red plastic cups, searching almost frantically for an empty, not used one. And you find one. Hidden behind a six-pack of beer. You grab it, filling it up with the first liquor that slips into your hands, then pouring in some juice.

This will be fine. _Hopefully._

You take a hasty sip. Some of the drink spilling out, dripping on your shirt. The bitterness of the alcohol mixes with the sweetness of the fruit juice and you flinch your face. Disgusting but somehow good. Another sip and you feel the alcohol crawling through your veins.

The feeling in your chest stays. And you feel lost.  
Lost in your own body.

You are craving for something you don’t know. Something to get rid of this uneasiness, the tightness around your chest, the wrenching of your heart. Air. Maybe air.

Liquor spills from the cup over your hand as you almost frantically leave the kitchen, your feet carrying your body towards the balcony. It bumps into other people.

“Sorry, sorry”, you can hear yourself mumbling. Maybe it’s you. You don’t know.

Clear, fresh air hitting in your face so hard you’re almost not able to breathe. It’s so crisp outside, it reminds you of the feeling of sinking into fresh bed sheets after a hot shower and a long day. Three guys are standing on your right, in a small circle, passing a blunt.

“Wanna join?” One of them asks, pointing at the blunt between his fingers.  
You consider it for a second. Maybe it would help. “No…but…thanks.”

Turning away from them, you walk to the balustrade, propping yourself on it. Hands hanging over the railing, your lungs soaking in the fresh air. Aching a little bit.

_I want to._

Three simple words hitting your mind and you feel yourself crumbling. The whole façade into thousands, millions of pieces. _“Maybe that’s the reason huh?”_ Tom’s voice in your head over and over, repeating his words, burning them in your mind.

_It’s not like that._

You’ve known Tom for about six years now. Him, his family, his friends. Your mom worked with his mom on some kind of project and so you got closer. You became friends. Close friends. And it was just a year before his career took off that it started. 

The flirting, the glances at each other, the cuddles, soft head kisses, which slowly turned into real kisses, hours on the couch, making out, hands on skin, touching, leading into the bed. Not a relationship, no. You were both too insecure, too shy to speak out what you’ve been thinking, to crushed on each other. A fling. A sweet romance your parents would call it. It was nothing and a lot.

And it didn’t work out. Suddenly, you didn’t see Tom again as much and as fast as it started, it ended. You still remember the day you both decided to stay friends. Equally. For him his career was about to start and for you, university. And since then, Tom is your friend. Best friend. Buddy. Whatever. Always at your side as same as you are on his. Supporting him whenever you could and he did whenever he was able to.

No. He did whenever he wasn’t asleep. He was there all the time.

Here it could have ended. You both could have stayed friends forever.

_But it can’t be._

Your façade crumbles even more. During the years, a lot changed. 

You. Tom. Your friendship. 

Especially during the last months and his absence to London, filming and touring in the USA. Video calls in the middle of the night, both of you almost or half asleep, telling each other about your day and although you’ve been so tired, with this big smile on your face. The same smile his lips curled into as you greeted you after coming home. The warm, tight hug, which felt more than good. Since then, everything started to confuse you. The flirting, secretly bumping into each other, the smirks, glances, jokes and mocks. 

Before his US-trip, everything seemed to be sorted. Everything was clearly labelled as just friends. But now you don’t know. Something tripped over the border, spilling small specks on the other side, blurring your once so clean view.

_I want to._

Minutes ago, up in the room, maybe you wanted to kiss him. Kissing had never been a problem, but your absence ability to talk to each other about what was going on. To push through. And it hurts you, but you hide it. Neatly packed into a box, shoved in the darkest corner of your mind.

“Here you are.” The voice behind you makes your heart flutter and you turn around, although jumping from the balcony seemed more appealing to you than talking to Tom. “I’ve been looking for you.”

No girl standing next to him. He really came alone. Alone with his empty beer bottle. “Look I.” Tom runs his fingers through his hair. “I…”

 _“It’s ok”,_ you want to say, but your mouth does not work. As if he knows this is not true.

“Look, I…” Tom places his bottle on the small table next to the entry. “I am sorry.”

Those words feel good, but also hurt. You bite your lip, staring down on the stone floor, which is speckled with specks of probably alcohol.

“Shouldn’t have said that. We never….” His voice crumbles and you look up in this face full of remorse, this apologetic glance in his eyes. “We never…”

_We. We. We._

“Wish I could blame it on the alcohol more than on that I am an idiot.”  
A faint smile tucks at your lips. “You are.”  
“Thanks.” Gently, almost carefully, Tom bumps his hand against your shoulder, then pulls you to him, into this deep, bear-like hug. You sink against him, the tart and sweet smell of his cologne rising into your nose, pushing away the uneasiness in your chest, unwrenching your heart.

“I am sorry.”

Tom’s nose tip brushes over your neck, as he pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair. The uneasiness is fading away slowly, making space for something else, another feeling you can’t quite figure out. It’s blurred, like your mind.

“Are you going to talk to me again?”

The soft whispering of his voice at your ear makes you feel so warm and fuzzy.

“Yes.” You pull back a little, meeting his shimmering eyes. The drunk smile.  
“Oh, it can talk.” Devious smile. You punch him gently in the waist.  
“It huh?”

Tom giggles, pulling you closer, soft lips brushing over your forehead, placing this small, delicate kiss on it. You close your eyes.

_Just for a second._

“You still owe me that kiss, you know that, right?” Your disbelief hits the cheeky smirk on his face. The familiar one. The one that made your heart happy, made you feel at home.

“Fuck off Holland.”

The sheets covering your body feel warm. Warmer than usual. Morning sunlight is tickling through the half-closed blinds, speckling warm spots over your face. You keep your eyes closed, soaking in the last moments of the remaining sleep, feeling something coming back into your body again. It’s your bed you are lying in. Your sheets, your flat. You can smell the laundry detergent. But something is different, something your still sleepy mind can’t quite figure out yet.

Slowly, your body wakes up. You feel your head aching from the alcohol, your throat is dry, thirsting for some water. And then there is this warmth next to you, the arm wrapped around your waist, the breath brushing over your neck. Panic grasps your heart. Making it stop.

And you need a second. Just a moment to realize who it is. What happened yesterday.

Shots. A lot of shots. And a lot of dancing. Wild dancing.

And a very drunk Tom, trying to convince you he was able to get to his place alone. In the middle of the night, the early morning hours, whilst you were living practically around the corner. And so you both crashed at your place. Hushed giggling as you weren’t really able to open the door at the first try. And not at the second one either. Both stumbling into your tiny apartment, clothes falling on the floor and Tom and you in your bed.

He immediately fell asleep with his head bedded on one of your pillows, sheets drawn over his body, just wearing boxers and this old shirt you owned from him for years. And you laid next to him, your body so tired, but your mind so awake. Your dizzy, drunk brain trying to figure out what was going on. 

Going through everything that happened during the last weeks. Every so small situation, every smirk Tom gave you, every hug, every kiss on the cheek, forehead, crease, neck. At some point, you fell asleep, your mind stirring around in your dreams, making you sleep really uneasy. Throwing yourself around in the sheets, shifting to find a new position.

You don’t know when you really fell into a deep sleep. There are some blurry glimpses in your mind from Tom pulling you to him. In his arms. And you felt safe. Like right now. 

Your eyelids flicker. Letting in a glimpse of reality.

You hear him breathing right behind you, the warmth of his body enough to keep you both warm even without the blanket drawn over you.

_This is real._

But just for this moment and you knew that. Moments like this one could fade any second. When he woke up, with this sleepy smile on his face, the morning bed hair, yawning at you. There would be no good morning kiss, just a soft mumbling, him turning away, the warmth leaving you. As normal as cuddling with each other was for you two, it was also occasional, mostly happening in sleepy, drunk situations. And same as this one would, they all ended. Close to having everything, but not really.

_You want it._

You feel your heart sinking down in your chest, pulling your mind down with it. Down in the dark, deep hole of your mind spiralling about the why and why not. You swallow, trying to keep yourself in the shallow water, your head above it, keeping your clarity sane. Tension runs through your body, clenches your jaw, wrapping tightly around your sinking heart. 

_It’s ok._

Your mantra since yesterday. Telling, lying to yourself that you’d be fine. That this was just normal. Meaning nothing. And on the same page so much.

Behind you, his body snuggled against yours, Tom shifts a little bit and you tense up even more, trying to keep still. Not moving. Not disturbing him. Cherishing every second you’d have with him like this. You close your eyes again, shutting them tightly, telling your mind to go back to your dream. To shut off reality.

But your bed feels different now. The sheets to heaving, pushing you down, making it unable for you to breathe, Tom’s body too hot for you. Burning right through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, setting your skin on fire. And your heart. It’s not the same feeling you always get when cuddling him. It’s not just comfortable anymore. It feels so different, yet familiar and it stresses you. 

You need to get out of here. Of the bed. From him. Just for a second.

_Or not at all?_

Carefully, not to wake him up, you get out of bed. Your bare feet touching the cool wooden planks, stumbling over your clothes lying on the ground. A glimpse at your bed and your heart sinks.

_It melts._

Tom is curled up in the covers, his face pressed in the pillow, lips slightly parted. Wild curls on his head, framing his freckled skin and you feel the urge, desire to push them back. But you push yourself back, tip-toeing over in your small, separated kitchen. The only chance - besides your bathroom - to get away from him. A small, personal space.

The late morning sun is peeking through the small window, but you can’t admire it. Your head hurts and the light does not help, although it is really pretty. Single-handedly, your hands are reaching for a glass, filling it up with water. The cool water runs down your throat, washing away the pain in your head for a moment. Then it re-appears, hitting you even harder. There has to be some aspirin somewhere.

You pull open a drawer. Bags of tea, coffee, some cough medicine and yes, a half empty box of aspirin. Heaven has never been that close to you than right now.

You pop one pill out, chugging it down with some water, then grabbing two tea bags out of the drawer. Although Tom was still asleep, you knew he’d never say no to a nice English brew. Treason, he called it when you would drink coffee in some occasions. Shaking his head about you and also your weird breakfast habits. 

He was a full English guy, you preferred cereal, toast or pancakes. And fruit. But then you remember him and you making pancakes in his kitchen, Tessa lying to your feet, waiting for maybe one or two spare ones. Your pancake flipping challenge, him doing it perfectly and you failing completely, leading him to burst into laughter.

_Oh the laughter.  
_

You shake your head, filling up your kettle with water, turning it on and grabbing two mugs from the open shelf. Two slices of toast in your toaster. You’re not even hungry, but the day didn’t seem durable with an empty stomach. Through the window you can see the blue sky, the sun glaring over the London rooftops.

“Morning.” A voice. Raspy, deep. You turn around, seeing Tom standing, bracing against the doorframe. His eyes still small, he rubs them, rubs the sleep away. Grinning at you. Brown curls framing his face, standing in all directions, so messy, but looking so good. Total bed hair. Total bury your hands in worth.

“Morning.” You smile back. The kettle klicks.  
“Uhhh tea?”  
You nod, grabbing the kettle to pour some water in the mugs.

“And toast?” Hands wrap around your waist, his head in his favourite position, the crook of your neck. “Is this heaven?”

“Since when do you like toast?”

You don’t dare to move, although this is just a normal hug.  
A normal hug for you two.

“Preferences can change.” Tom chuckles, his lips brushing over your cheek.

_Also his for you?_

“Ok.” You shrug. Trying to keep your normal face up. To not crumble down in pieces.  
“You’re an angel.” He pulls you closer. His body still warm, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Drowning you under it.

“Sure.”

You don’t want this hug to end. But also you want it to end. “Do you need an aspirin?”  
“Oh yes, please.” Tom groans. Not letting go. Not a single millimetre. “Don’t know what killed it.”

“Maybe the five shots of tequila Haz and you decided to drink in like one minute?”

“Hmmm, no.” Chuckles right next to your ear. “Maybe because you convinced me to do another three.”

“You could have said no.” Slowly, you feel comfortable again. With his arms wrapped around you. The toaster clicks, the two slices jumping up. "Yeah sure.“ Tom laughs, not even making a move to let go of you. "I can’t say no, you know that.”

_True._

Not that he never said no. He said it. Often. A lot. But there were also many yes. Mostly when drunk. Yes to hugs, dancing on tables, flirting with girls. He was a gentleman, always caring about everyone, barely letting an opportunity to be nice slip away. And you wondered when he’d say no to something like this. To a flirt. A dance. A kiss. 

“You want some toast?” Despair mixes in your voice. You hate this. You don’t want to sound like this.

“Hmmm.” Tom’s soft humming runs through your body, calming down your pounding heart. Not your throughts. “You’re an angel, really.”

You wish you were. His lips brush over your cheek as he pulls back a little, pecking a small kiss on your cheek.

_God Holland._

Hands are pulling back, letting go of you. Leaving a weird emptiness in you, which is slowly filling with this weird silence in you. No thoughts.

“This smells lovely.” Tom leans over, grabbing one of the steaming mugs. “God I love tea.”  
“Really?” You follow his example, your fingers carefully grasping around the hot mug. “Tell me more.”

His soft chuckle wafts through the room and you turn around, opening the fridge to take out some homemade jam from your mum.

“First: not drinking tea in Britain is treason.”

_As you said._

You raise your eyebrows, taking a careful sip from the tea. “Not teason?”  
It takes a moment. Two moments. While your lips are curling so badly, your chuckle mixing with Tom’s sigh.

“Oh god.”

He leans against the counter, next to you, shaking his head. His curls nodding, strands of hair falling into his face. And his lips are tucked up.

“Eh you’re smiling.”

Tom glances at you, shortly, filling the emptiness for a moment. Then he shakes his head, taking a sip from his tea, his eyes looking at something in front of him.

_Not you._

But yours do. At him. Slowly wandering, cautiously, always on the edge of turning away if he’d show a sign of movement to you. The left sleeve of his, your, grey shirt is fraying a little bit. He had been a little less thinner when he wore this last time. Now the thin fabric is stretching over his biceps and his chest, highlighting just the right spots. You can’t deny that he looks even better compared to the time you met him. But he also was doing a lot more sports. Weightlifting, gymnastics, jogging, building this body. Sometimes you joined in when you were at your parents. A jog with Tessa, boxing with Tom. All fun, but also kind of appealing. Both of you sweating, with damp hair curling in both of your necks, your breaths hitching.

Your eyes stop at his lips, the bottom one pulled between his teeth. Wrinkles on his forehead. He looked lost, sunken in his thoughts. Thinking about yesterday? How you danced on the table, almost knocking over half empty beer bottles and cups. Or about Haz, vigorously flirting with this really gorgeous girl. Or was he thinking about the girl from yesterday. The one dragging him to play spin the bottle. She came to him a second time, even drunker, gigglier. Touching him and he was smiling at her. But if he is happy.

_Let him be._

Or was he thinking about you? If he should have kissed you yesterday. Redeem it. Tom did have several chances. On the table, outside on the balcony. On your way home. But no glimpse of it.

_Nothing._

Maybe you should have kissed him. Just to know. If it was just an old crush coming back on the surface, because something in you, felt alone. Or if it was real. Not just a friend, a crush.

_Stop it. Come on._

Sweet, sharp pain hits your heart. You shouldn’t think about that. There wasn’t the slightest chance something would ever happen again.

_But what if.  
_No

Tom is still standing right next to you. Fingers wrapped around the mug. You know how they feel on your skin, you know that there is this tiny little scar on his right thumb from him cutting himself on a broken beer bottle. It’s not visible at first sight, but you know it’s there. Your gaze wanders back up, hitting right into his. Big smile. With this kissable lips.

“What?” The one second you didn’t pay attention now pays back. With this devilish grin on his lips, him leaned back are little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Automatic response, your mouth is working on its own. He shouldn’t know. He shouldn’t know that you wished to kiss him. Right now maybe.

_But what if._

Taking a chance? Yesterday, on the balcony, he said to you that there was still one to redeem. Why not now?

“The…kiss I owe you…”

Tom arches his eyebrows, a shimmer in his eyes. “Hmmm?” A smirk pulls at his lips and your heartbeat speeds up. Overpowering every single thought in your head.

“Do…” Your throat is dry, cracking your voice. “Want to redeem it?”


End file.
